


A Word To The Wise

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [49]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 04:03:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sometimes a person is in a position to give some friendly advice.  Sometimes that advice is taken, sometimes not, depending on the intelligence of the one listening.  After all, a word to the wise is sufficient.Three vignettes from different periods of time.  Words of wisdom, pearls of good advice given by:Elis Tanner, Blacksmith, soon after 'In My Time of Need'.Magda Rhys and Marisol, shortly after 'Sins of the Father'.Clan Grandmother, immediately after 'Memories of Things Past'.





	A Word To The Wise

**Author's Note:**

> The last vignette addresses what has to be a question in the readers' minds by now. Just how did The Big Brown Eagle escape Clan Justice after 'Memories of Things Past'? There just HAS to be a reason, knowing what we know of Caeide and her siblings' temper.
> 
> And Cadoc Alwyn? His story is told in 'Death in a Literary Mode'.

ELIS TANNER, BLACKSMITH: (Soon after 'In My Time of Need')

Elis Tanner listened as Gar Matchem laid out his concerns about Haven and the newcomer, 'that Londoner'. Gar had returned from the war, and intended to take over the family's small farm, which shared a small part of Haven's border, with his brother Lloyd to help, their father being glad to have someone else take the reins now. He'd barely kept it together while they were gone, and would be more than happy to take his place at the side of the fire. They'd both come back hale and hearty, something Elis Tanner hadn't, but he didn't begrudge them that; he'd survived, had been invalided out very early on, made himself a new half leg from wood and metal and leather, re-opened the smithy which had closed briefly at his father's death, courted his sweet Mali and felt lucky indeed; there had been others in the line of that artillery shell that hadn't come home at all, or if they had, not in as good a shape.

"Da says he don't know what to make of him, this newcomer; been here more than two months and hasn't even met him! Not at the stores, not at the kirk. You'd think he'd get out and let the village take a good look, take his measure, if he thinks to abide here! Seems the only ones to meet him have been Davie Rhys and the Reverend, maybe, though there's plenty of others who've heard enough about him, about those of his kind, and most are none too happy to have him here, that's the truth."

"Say two women came first, Londoners as well, from the East End. You might not know, Elis, but that's not a fine part of town, not at all. Slums, you might call them. Where that girl might have come across them, can't image, nor why they think they can waltz in here and make themselves to home."

"Dylan Morleigh and his wife, well, THEY said it be right shameful; their oldest boy, Art, he'd tried courting the Haven girl, all up front and honorable, and was sent away soon enough. And there had been others, too, old Dylan said, and her tossing her head at each of them. Well, and weren't Lloyd and me among them? And that only making sense, with the properties right up next to each other like they are."

"But NOW, she lets this wastrel come in, him and his two friends, and wouldn't be long before Haven will be in their hands, thinking to lord it over everyone. Might even sell the land; no telling what they might get up to, that sort! Morleigh says girl like that shouldn't be trying to manage a big property like that anyway; surprised that family didn't send in someone older, wiser, someone not so easily taken advantage of . . ." He continued on in that vein, getting more worked up, now pacing in front of the anvil.

Elis listened, and wondered just how involved he should get. He remembered he'd had some few qualms himself, well, more than a few when he'd heard about the Brit solder in the tattered RAF uniform showing up at the station, being taken up to Haven, being gathered in by Haven. He'd been concerned enough to have a word with Davie Rhys and his wife Magda, and it was at their urging he talked to the Reverend Miles who had a better feel for the matter; then he made his way to Haven to speak with the Mistress there, him and his Mali.

He was not unacquainted with her, certainly; he'd done the smithy work for Haven for a long time, as had his father before him, and she's spent much of her early years here. He'd watched in some wry amusement as the local men had ignored her when she worked at Haven as trainee, then as Second, in favor of trying to court her cousin Maeve, the heir, then owner. When Maeve had died so suddenly and Caeide inherited, well, it was right amazing how Mistress Caeide's charms and appeal just shone forth like a glowing beacon, so that Art Morleigh and others started heading up that long path, showing themselves off as the fine catch they each thought themselves to be. Elis had already set his mind on his Mali, and didn't join them; he also remembered his father's amusement at the parade, told Elis how he saw things.

"Haven don't pick local, never have, doubt they ever will. They have their own ways; a good neighbor to the village but not OF the village, you know. Can't see them changing, and that girl? She's no sweet little miss, waiting for one a them to choose her. She's a strong one, capable as any, and she has a look in her eye, always has had, one of already being settled in her mind as to who she wants. No, none of these will please her, you can take my word on that!"

Well, his father had been right, and Art Morleigh and all the others had made their way back down that long path just as quickly as they made their way up. Still, there were many in the area who had hopes that, with their sons and brothers and such coming back from the war, she'd change her mind, take one of them to be Master up at Haven. Elis snorted at that; if anything, the girl had grown stronger, more resolute, the Mistress of Haven. Ran Haven to a right turn, and her alone there most of the time til recently.

He'd taken notice of the two women arriving; the Reverend Miles had said they were old friends of hers from her youth, and fitting in just fine up there, and making a few friends in the village, his Mali, Davie's Magda, Gracie Landers over at the store, among others. The addition of a man, though, that had given Elis some concern, so after his conversation with Davie and Magda Rhys and Reverend Miles, and after talking it over with Mali, the two of them went to pay a call at Haven.

They had been greeted warmly enough, but with a degree of caution they'd not seen in the girl before. Elis had to wonder if she'd been told not to be too open, if the man, maybe the women were exerting some type of pressure, and he was unhappy at that thought, to be sure, wondering in spite of Reverend Miles' words whether the villagers might be right. His Mali, though, as smart as she was sweet, saw right off what the trouble was.

"Been giving you some trouble, have they, the gossips from the village?" with a kind and understanding smile. The tightly clenched jaw and pursed lips confirmed that, along with a crisp nod.

Mali leaned forwarded, patted the girl's hand, "never you mind, lass, they'll come around, eventually, those that count, anyway. Magda says he's not well, your lad. Is there aught we can do to help?"

He could see the girl was relieved at Mali's very real kindness and support, but looked at him hesitantly. "Elis, are you also as willing to be of help?" she asked him plain and straightforward-like, and he was taken aback.

Haven asked for little, usually asked for nothing; did business with the village and others, was on good terms, but asked no favors. Seeing this was more than somewhat important to her, seeing his Mali looking at him expectantly, "aye, lass, I'm willing," and was rewarded by a grateful smile.

"He could use a bit of company, not long for he truly isn't well, but, another man, another who wore the uniform, that might be welcome. If you'd come, the both of you, I'll introduce you." And she swept a measuring, cautioning eye over him, over them both, and somehow it didn't need to be said that this was very important; that she'd not insist they LIKE this man, but that she expected proper consideration of someone taken into the protection of Haven, if nothing else. Elis nodded at her, accepting what she asked of them, and they proceeded up those long stairs.

"I'd not ask you to make that climb, Elis, but he's not able to come down, not yet, perhaps not for some time," and he smiled at her, "don't fret; not saying I'm not glad our own is all one level, but a bit of a climb now and again will bring me no harm."

He'd found the ex-soldier in bed, upright against high pillows, drowsing, a gleam of fever in his hollowed cheeks. He blinked and woke when they entered the room, and held out a hand as Caeide made the introductions. Elis could feel the unnatural heat in his thin hand. They talked, just a bit, and Mali and Caeide moved away, to chat on the loveseat in the adjoining room, the panels opened wide to really make it one big room.

Elis stiffly sat in the big arm chair, his false leg out in front of him.

"Artillery shell."

"German? Italian?"

That got a rueful snort from Elis, "First Highlanders, damn fool couldn't read the target map!"

And the man in the bed drew back his head in surprise, "you got 'it by our own??"

"Aye, spent time in the hospital, then invalided home," pulling up his pants leg to give Peter a look, though he usually was rather shy about doing that; somehow, it even'd the field with the other man probably feeling uncomfortable being laid up in bed in a nightshirt to receive company.

Peter leaned forward to take a better look at that false leg, "that's a fine piece of work; 'ad friends who lost limbs before the war even, what they were given, nothing that looked like that; said they 'ad nothing but trouble. You seem to do just fine managing it. Theirs, well, they'd not 'ave been able to mount those stairs, that's for certain!"

Elis nodded, "drew up the design, put it together, forged some of the pieces special. First one or two, well, didn't quite do the trick; third one out, it works just fine; lets me work the smith, forge and all, just fine."

"A blacksmith, are you then? A little fellow like you?" the far too thin man, Peter, asked with a grin.

"Yes, well, it's hard sometimes, for someone my size, but until someone bigger comes along, I make do," grinning back, knowing he had at least seven inches, maybe more on the reclining man, who wasn't short by any means, and probably a good nine stone, at least. Not many would dare joke with him about his size, and Elis rather liked that in the man. They talked a bit more, but Elis could see the weariness settling on Peter's shoulders, pulling at him, and with a nod, collected Mali and said their goodbyes.

He knew for sure what Mali thought when his sweet wife bent over and dropped a light kiss on the Englishman's cheek, "we'll visit again, if you've no objection. Welcome, Peter, we are pleased that you've come to Haven, and we know Caeide is for certain," and the shock and wonder in the man's eyes said how much her welcome had meant.

"We'll come again; I enjoyed our time," Elis put forward, with his hand outstretched for a goodbye handshake. "Caeide, I'll have those new door hinges and fittings for you within a week."

Caeide showed them to the door, kissed Mali on the cheek, shook his hand, and impulsively reached up to place a kiss on his cheek as well, though he had to lean down quite a bit to accept it. "Thank you, both of you."

He'd asked Mali on the way home, "so you think it'll suit?" only to get her warm chuckle, "well, not that it's for us to say, but yes, I think it'll suit. He's no stranger to her, certainly. He's the one she's kept herself for, Elis; I think the one she's built Haven as a home for them." And he'd nodded, having seen some signs of that, and accepted.

He'd been back, both of them had, and found a liking for Peter, a common ground. Even if he hadn't, he'd known right at the beginning that Caeide thought well of the man; no, in truth, he agreed with his Mali when she'd told him, "you know, he's the one she's chosen, the one she's waited for all these long years. Bless him, it's good that he finally made his way here; she's been too long alone, and perhaps, so has he been."

The question now was, just what did he say to Gar Matchem. He tried to stay out of neighbors' quarrels, his father having taught him that just wouldn't do for a man of trade. He did business with their farm, just as he did with all the others around about that needed pieces forged, horses shod and all the other bits and pieces being a smithy meant. He thought again, about that kiss on his cheek, about the comraderie he'd found in the lanky Englishman, and to his credit, not once did he think about the custom Haven gave him.

He drew a deep breath, "Davie Rhys and his wife are comfortable with him, as is the Reverend Miles. And, Gar . . . Mali and I are as well," to have Gar Matchem look at him with astonishment.

He and Gar and Lloyd had grown up together; they were good men, he knew that, but somehow, that border shared with Haven, it was a serious temptation, just as the richness of Haven was a temptation to others.

"Those suiters she turned away, Mistress Caeide, they'd none of them had an eye for her until she inherited, you know that as well as I. And my father said, Haven has NEVER chosen local, not in the many years they've been here. Art had no real interest; it was that mother of his with her eye on the land."

Elis refrained from mentioning the same of Gar and his brother, but the look in his eyes caused the man to flush and drop his head somewhat.

"But HIM? A slum Londoner?"

Elis sighed, and went to perch on the metal stool by the wide door, easing his leg out in front of him.

"She's known him, and the two women, been friends with them, cared for them and them for her, since she was little more than a child, Gar. They're not taking advantage of her; she called out to them; she looks at it as her family coming home to her after far too long. And he's not been out and about partly because he's still recovering from illness and injury; an ex-soldier he is, like you and Lloyd and me, and worthy of some respect, you know. And unlike us, in a prisoner of war camp for a goodly amount of time, and I expect you've heard enough to know what that had to have been like; it certainly did him no good. And if I were him, don't know I'd be all that anxious to go avisiting anyway, not with all that's being said, all the sour faces being pulled, stories being told." He sighed and turned to look the other man square in the eye, to tell him in a serious tone, "I'll tell you, Gar; I don't know how long Mistress Caeide'll put up with that. She's been occupied with getting him home and settled and healed, with the work at Haven and all that comes to her hand; but sooner or later, she'll find a bit of time and take notice and someone is going to say the wrong thing, and, well, if YOU don't remember her temper, I do, and I have no intention of being on the wrong end of it!"

Gar thought, and remembered, and had to snort and give a bit of a laugh as he remembered a few instances of that temper. In fact, that remembering, made him think perhaps little Elen Clegg, mild-mannered and as sweet as Elis's Mali, over to the next valley, might be a more suitable wife to him anyway, and he rather thought Lloyd would agree, when they talked it over, all of them to be sharing the house. Lloyd didn't really have any longing for a wife, anyway, never had; he'd have been taking the girl just for the getting of the land, and Gar flushed again, and glanced at Elis, admitting to himself the truth of what Elis hadn't wanted to say aloud earlier because of their friendship. "Well, Cadoc Alwyn, he's back too, and he says he can tame her and will. Says a girl like that, putting herself up as being good as a man, thinking to run a place like that, putting on airs as being a property owner, well, a sound beating every now and then would teach her her proper place. A few visits from him and his fist, will bring her in line; he'll have those three out and gone, and her just standing quiet and nodding her replies in front of the parson, not daring to use her tongue," with a slight frown, himself not liking that thought a bit, never having been a one to raise a hand to a woman.

He related a bit more of what Cadoc Alwyn had been bragging about, about how HE'D handle the Haven wench, and Elis gave a harsh laugh what sounded like a roar of thunder.

"Now there's a pric pwdin for you! Gar, remember all those stories about that far hillside at Haven, where those ended up in shallow graves when they tried the patience of Haven too much? I've been there, man; my father took me up there once, him knowing Agnera and Kathleen quite well, them being the Mistresses of Haven then as you may recall. It exists and those graves exist too, and not a small number of them either, going back who knows how long! And every one of them has been dug AND filled by a woman of Haven, them not needing the help of any man in the doing either! Well, maybe we should ask Cadoc if he has a preference for uphill or downhill, for it's sure that's where he ends up if he tries any such with that girl! Or any nonsense with Peter and Maudie and Marisol. That is, if she doesn't just dump his body over the cliff for the sharks to have for their afternoon tea!"

Elis made up his mind to have a word with Haven, though, about Cadoc Alwyn and his plans, just in case. It didn't hurt for them to have a bit of forewarning before they open the door to the man as freely as they had Elis and Mali.

Gar frowned, really wanting an answer, him having always respected Elis Tanner, far more than he did most, especially now seeing what the man had accomplished even with being so sorely wounded and all, "so, you think it's well enough, we should just let it be?"

He got a firm, "I think it's just fine, Gar. Not only do I think we should just let it be, I think a hand of welcome wouldn't go amiss. Not saying you need to become fast friends, though I have a strong liking for the man myself. Haven's never asked for that, for a forced friendship for anyone living there, now have they? If a friendship forms, well, that's all to the well and good, but they have their own ways, their own customs, and don't ask for, don't want our opinions, or our attempting to interfere. But, to show you've maybe more sense than many around here have shown? I don't think that would go amiss at all. Especially, as you mentioned, with you sharing a bit of border between your lands. Haven thinking kindly of you has to be better than Haven thinking you're a right stupid prick!" And the two old friends shared a look and a snort and then a laugh.

And so it was that Gar Matchem, then later his brother Lloyd made their way to Haven, to shake the hand of Peter Newkirk, and bid him welcome, as did Elen Matchem, nee Clegg, when the time came. No, they'd never become fast friends, most likely, but neither were they enemies; they were neighbors, respectful of each other, and that was all that was asked by either side. And as for Cadoc Alwyn, well, that's another story entirely.

 

MAGDA RHYS, CONCERNED FRIEND and MARISOL, AMUSED 'SISTER': (Soon after 'Sins of the Father)

Magda Rhys was trying to think of how to handle this ever so awkward conversation. Gladys Farren had come to call just as Magda was setting the pot on to steep; she was the wife of Dylan Farren, brother of old Marlen who'd passed not so long ago.

Dylan, the younger brother by a goodly number of years, had inherited the house in the village and just a bit of land adjoining it. Dylan had shaken the dust from this place as soon as he'd become grown, rarely returning in the intervening years. Now, with a wife and five daughters, three unmarried and still in his train, he'd returned to deal with the estate. He was even talking about perhaps settling here, and that was raising some eyebrows.

He'd seemed to have grown into a reasonable man, but his wife and daughters? 'Townies', 'flibbertigibbits' were the best words she'd heard said, and there were many worse. No, they weren't lewd, or loose, or wicked; just overly concerned with their fine clothes, and the fact that the village had no sidewalks so their dainty shoes got dusty, and that the grocery didn't deliver, and that the market was only one day a week, and they weren't on the telephone, and it was carts and carriages instead of automobiles, and there was no social life, no routine of dances and teas and card parties and such.

Magda was bewildered as to how they thought to fit in here; she couldn't imagine the life they were used to, seemed to expect the village to provide, couldn't imagine them living the lives all of the villagers lived. And it wasn't just that they were townies; well, so were Maudie and Marisol, up at Haven, well, at least FROM the town, and you never heard such nonsense from those two. Well, Maudie and Marisol were firmly down to earth women, with good common sense and right canny along with it. These women, well, Magda just had to shake her head. And no more so than over the tea table where she'd felt pushed into inviting Gladys Farren to join her when she'd turned up at the appointed time.

Seems this was a scouting expedition, the woman trying to ascertain the status of the eligible man in the area and somehow, Magda certainly didn't know how, she'd latched staunchly onto the idea of Peter and Andrew, the two men at Haven. She seemed to discount the idea of the Mistress of Haven; didn't seem to grasp that meaning; seemed to feel the two men were, had to be the owners, those in control of the property. She also seemed to have the idea that they were 'eligible', those she'd like to claim for one or maybe both as husbands for her daughters. Magda almost snorted into her tea at the thought; only politeness and really good control kept her from it.

"And I've met them both, and they both seem quite personable, although the taller one is a bit older, of course, though more handsome in a dark sort of way than the younger one, though he does have those scars. Do you know just how the partnership up at Haven works? Do they own it together, or each own half?" Mrs Farren went on and on, and Magda was torn.

She'd watched the woman and her daughters stalk Peter and Andrew, and while Andrew just looked startled and shied away, and had started staying away from places he might meet them, Peter had started at amused but was rapidly working his way toward exasperated. Well, the poor man couldn't even bring things to the Vincent booth without being surrounded, sometimes by all four. Caeide, she was trying to be patient, but Magda was seeing that wear a bit thin. Gracie, down at the store, she'd talked about getting up a pool about when Caeide'd lay into them right and proper.

Well, Caeide was a bit short-tempered right now; she was dealing with morning sickness, and the news that she'd be having twins, AND that dealer down in Cardith giving trouble with that bad seed he'd tried to palm off on them, for the second time now. Caeide had gone down to personally inspect it, since she'd been wary after that incident a couple, three years ago that had cost them an entire season for one of their best fields, and found the seed, ready to ship to her, already moldy and splitting and smelling more of hops than flax. It was a right blowup, and only Peter had been able to stop her from laying him out on the floor of his own grainery.

Of course, Peter had been snickering the whole time, Magda had heard from the man himself as he related the story to her and Davie, Caeide dressed all lady-like, hair in that tidy coronet around her head, and that fist of hers curling into something Peter wouldn't have wanted to face, especially when he suspected her knee would be following closely. It had looked to him as if she'd taken Goniff's advice to the Clan women, "tuck a roll of coin into your fist, and keep your thumb on the outside and aim for 'is nuts. Works a pip, it does!" Magda had snorted a bit at that, and Peter had flushed as he realized what he'd said, but grinned sheepishly at her when he realized she hadn't been insulted. While the notion of the snooty Gladys Farren laid out on the bare dirt, there not being a sidewalk available, was intriguing, still, she felt she had a responsibility to try and prevent that, amusing though she might find it.

"Mrs. Farren, Gladys, I'm not sure you have a full grasp of how it is at Haven. Peter and Andrew, they don't own Haven; Mistress Caeide O'Donnell, she's the owner," to see skeptical disbelief in the woman's eyes. "She inherited it from her cousin; the land's been in the family for generations, and as I said, Peter and Andrew, they own no part of it."

"Well, are they just Managers, or what? I admit I am sorely disappointed; they both seemed to be much more than that, have an air of authority."

"No, not managers, as such. They're family, of course; they work the land together, the family."

Only to see Mrs. Farren's eye's light up again, "then they have some claim to the land! A good lawyer could see to that! Surely, the family prefers to have strong capable men own the land. And if they were to marry, surely the family would settle the land on them or at least half to each of them! My Eleanor and Karen, now they'd make fine wives for them, and well able to handle the social requirements of the owners of such a fine property."

Magda felt her resolve falter, not to mention trying to think of what 'social requirements' the annoying woman was referring to. She doubted if it was shearing the sheep or gelding two horses, or picking the orchards, or deciding which of the pigs to slaughter for the smokehouse, the main activities she knew Caeide had been absorbed with this week. She'd intended to be discreet, but somehow, if the flat statement that Caeide owned the land didn't work, maybe she'd just let discretion fly out the window. Somehow, she didn't think Caeide would chide her too much.

"I see you truly do not understand, Gladys. Peter and Andrew, they are part of Haven, family, not because they are blood-kin, but because they are Caeide's, I'm not sure of the English word that might suit best. 'Lovers', perhaps, 'concubines', 'consorts', 'unofficial husbands?' Well, any of those would work, I suppose, though we don't usually bother with naming just what is; she certainly doesn't. In fact, she's in the family way right now; any inheriting that's done, will go to her children, not to their fathers."

A shocked look, "which of the men . . ." to have her jaw actually drop with the calm, "I wouldn't know and doubt they do; does it matter? I'm sure it doesn't to her. They are both hers."

And the final blow, "and I doubt they'd be interested in your daughters; seemingly the three of them, they have things worked out quite well, each of them sharing of each of the others happily enough, and more so."

It took a moment for that thought to sink in, but when there was more white to the woman's eyes than blue, and her jaw was hanging open in a most unattractive fashion, Magda knew it had. She figured she should probably make a run up to Haven to let Caeide and the lads know what she'd done, but she doubted she'd be scolded for it. 

She arrived in time for a late tea, and rather sheepishly explained what had happened. She admitted it was funnier in retrospect, in the telling, than it had seemed at the time. Peter was roaring with laughter, Andrew snickering. Maudie and Marisol were grinning to beat the band. The only one not particularly amused was Caeide.

"The nerve! I've a mind to take a ride into the village and just have a word or two with the high and mighty Glady Farren!"

Then, somehow, even it was usually ANDREW who had a purview on putting his foot deeply inside his own mouth, Peter spoke up, when he might have been better off just sipping at his tea.

"Now, Caeide-luv, don't be so hasty to spoil our chances! The daughters, they're worth a second thought, you know, young, fine figures, town ladies, rather appealing in their way."

Peter had forgotten, or perhaps not known that combining morning sickness, the news you were expecting twins, having your waist band no longer close properly and your bodice buttons seeming to want to follow suite, the aggravation of that conniving seed dealer didn't make for an even temper. Adding confirmation that your loves were being aggressively sought as husbands by some non-pregnant young ladies with fine figures, and the mother thinking of a lawyer to taking part of Haven away as their marriage portions, and being teased by one of the men responsible for her current condition about the desirability of other females was just not a healthy combination.

He'd certainly never expected a stunned face to be looking at him, tears coming to those big brown eyes, and a hurt he couldn't imagine he'd put there so unthinkingly. She turned and dashed up the stairs, and he heard the strangled sob as she reached the top, heard the slam of her bedroom door. He stood there with an open mouth, looking up at the second floor landing.

"Uh, Peter, I think you could have maybe said that better, or maybe not said it at all?" came tentatively from the appalled Andrew. The annoyed looks from the three women, well, they echo'd that notion.

He swallowed deeply and looked at Maudie, who scolded him firmly, "don't look at me, lad! You caused that, it's up to you to fix it! But I suggest you get that twisted sense of humor of yours tucked away for awhile; she's likely not going to be in the mood for it, at least til she stops kneeling in front of the porcelain half the morning."

And Marisol put a sisterly arm around his shoulder, and around Andrew's, "and when you get THAT settled out, I think we'd better have a bit of a talk, otherwise the next several months are going to be more than you've bargained for. Caeide? calm, reasonable, stable, secure, in control Caeide, able to deal with all your turns and starts and nonsense, well that is one thing. A pregnant Caeide? Well, that could just be something else entirely, lads, and you need to keep that in mind, along with just who turned her from one to the other and be prepared to deal with it."

Magda was trying to keep from doing some snickering of her own; she remembered Davie having tried to be cute when she was expecting first time, and that hadn't gone so well, either; she remembering bouncing the tea kettle off his head once when he'd jokingly compared her with Almerson's prize milker when she couldn't get her bodice fastened.

Peter looked at them as if asking for guidance, but patently getting none; he took a deep breath, straightened his back, raised his head, and went up those stairs as if a firing squad was waiting. Well, Andrew had always said Peter was the bravest man he'd ever met, and here had to be the proof! The women were kind enough to wait til they heard that bedroom door open and close again, before they started snickering.

The sounds of something, several somethings hitting the door and the walls, some clattering and clanging, some shattering, came down loud and clear, along with a loud anguished female voice, and a urgently, beseechingly earnest male voice.

Andrew just looked at them, his eyes huge, "is she going to be okay?"

And then looked back up the stairs where the noises were getting louder, (he rather thought that pretty hand mirror might had just met its end, or maybe that was the bourbon decanter), his eyes getting even bigger, "is HE going to be okay?" and was greatly relieved at their wholehearted laughter, kept low so as not to be heard above, but still, earnest laughter.

"Aye, lad, he'll be okay, they both will, but don't expect to see either of them for awhile; he has some forgiveness to be asking, and some amends to be making, and with those two . . ." and Andrew grinned, relieved, "yeah, I know, we put their dinner plates in the oven, right?" and the ladies grinned at him and nodded. Andrew was thinking it was really good he'd held back from the comment HE'D been ready to make, otherwise it might be him up there, and he doubted he'd be as good at the making amends as Peter was. His intentions would be good, sure, but still . . .

It was close to midnight when the tall Englishman made his way back through that bedroom door, a plate in each hand.

"Still warm, not too dried out, Caeide luv. I'll put them over 'ere, shall I?" sitting the plates on the round table in the adjoining office, the panels being wide open.

"Yes, that's fine," came from her, and he turned, pulling out one of the chairs for her, only to see her kneeling on that wide bed, grin on her face, crooking that index finger at him, "we can have it later, yes?" and he took a deep breath and swallowed deeply.

He knew he really needed to have that talk with Marisol and the sooner the better; seems there was more to this having babies than he'd ever been aware of. He'd try to remember that, he told himself, as he made his way back over to the bed, dropping his clothes all along the way. If he remembered. If his mind held out til then. Which he rather doubted it would. One thing he knew, next time this happened, Andrew was climbing those stairs WITH him; he couldn't handle this by himself, not too often! He just didn't have the strength!

Mrs. Farren had gone home, in a total state, to confront her husband as he was trying to work through the mass of paperwork on the desk in the study. He heard her out, and to her fury, snickered in amusement.

"Gladys, Haven . . . Well, Haven does things their own way. They're a bit like a different country; we share borders, but not the same customs. And if all you had was a bit of a shocking explanation, then you got off easy. I remember Haven, the Mistresses of Haven; if the current one had felt it necessary to come here and explain things to you first hand, I assure you it wouldn't have gone nearly so well. As I recall, they are not subtle, not at all. Tell the girls to back off, and you do the same."

To her infuriated comments about Caeide O'Donnell, those two men, and the relationships she'd finally come to the outrageous realization about, he just sighed, "Gladys, just stubble it, will you!" and her shocked gasp was almost amusing, though he knew he'd pay for it later. Yes, he remembered Haven, and the stories about Haven, and even if she was right, well, it wasn't the most bizarre he'd heard of about that place! He wouldn't mind meeting them, all of them, before they left. And they would be leaving; there was no way his women would survive in this village; they'd be eaten alive!

 

GRANDMOTHER: (Soon after 'Memories of Things Past')

"I want to call Justice on him, Grandmother!"

"Yes, my dear, I know you do. I would feel no different in your place. In fact, I feel pretty much the same even NOT being in your place. He is despicable, and I agree he deserves Justice."

"Then why? Why was I told 'No'??! He hurt them! And I am sure I know only a part of it; I know Peter is still vague on some memories, I think Andrew is as well. My Warrior let me see far more that they have not mentioned. He's off doing his manipulating and attending his fancy dinners and playing the hero, all the while my lads are trying to deal with the nightmares and the damage he's done!"

The old woman sighed, looking at the distraught young woman pacing in front of her. "I will not insult you by giving you the standard Outlander dodge, that 'that is on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need-to-know.' I fully realize how insulting you would find that." The look of outrage on Caeide's face told her that she found the need for this whole conversation highly insulting.

The Grandmother reached out, poured another dram into each of their glasses.

"There comes a time when each of us are asked to trust, to trust in the wisdom of the Clan. Sometimes we are given an explanation, at least somewhat of an explanation; sometimes, that is not the case." She took a slow sip from her glass, watching as Caeide glowered from across the table.

She raised a patient, though not TOO patient brow, and motioned with her chin toward the other chair. With an impatient huff, Caeide seated herself and reached for her glass.

"And which is this, Grandmother? Do I get an explanation, a hint, something?? Or am I just expected to smile and say all is forgiven??!"

"I'll thank you not to get snotty with me, girl! I said I understand, not that I'll tolerate insolence."

Caeide flushed, "I apologize, Grandmother."

The old woman kept the stern look on her face for a fraction of a second more, then relented, letting it relax into a deep sadness.

"Does he deserve Justice as delivered by the Red Duchess? Yes. But we have been asked to delay that until there truly is no other choice." She could tell Caeide was about to flare up again, and she held up a staying hand. "We were asked to delay by the only ones who had a right to make such a request, those he has harmed the most. That includes your Peter and your Andrew, though they will not remember that." 

She sat back and sipped her drink, wondering just how much she should tell the grieving, angry young woman seated in front of her.

Finally she nodded, "here is what I can tell you. There was a need, and a Gathering-In Call made to the camp; no, you were not apprized of it, purposefully, and at THEIR request. Aid was given as we promised you, indeed as Peter had a right to expect, for he was considered Clan also, even from your Internship. Those rendering the aid offered, indeed encouraged Justice being called at that time, but Peter and the others refused, asking for other means to help with the situation, saying Justice, true Justice at that time would cause even greater harm to the others at the camp and elsewhere. It was agreed, actions were taken to alleviate as much as possible of the damage, memories were, shall we say, 'adjusted'. Even your Warrior was compelled to keep the story hidden away, for everyone's sake."

Caeide was pale with shock, "and for how long, Grandmother? How long before Peter, before Andrew wake screaming in the night, or before the half-memories, the images in the mist cause them to take other, perhaps tragic action?"

"Until the conditions are met, what was agreed upon. Those who needed Aid, those who came to deliver it, they agreed. No action would be taken against Hogan, no Justice called, until after the war, and even then, only when he presented clear and immediate danger."

She looked sternly at Caeide, "not his usual manipulation, not annoyance, not implied threat, not a hint of a threat, but a clear and immediate danger. This is what Peter and Andrew and the others wanted, what we agreed to, albeit reluctantly. We could do little else, not when they were willing to forgo Justice, to risk continued danger to try and protect the others they had sworn to try and protect. We could only honor them, their resolve, their sacrifice."

A quick, wry and bitter smile twitched across Caeide's face, "he's always been a protector, you know; always ready to put himself between the fist and the one intended to receive the blow." There were tears in her eyes now.

"Will the time for Justice come, Grandmother?" she asked, simply and sincerely now, anger bleeding away, leaving only an overwhelming pride in the two men she loved so dearly. 

The Grandmother sipped from her glass, leaned back and looked into the horizon.

"There are predators that, once they get the scent, taste their victim's blood, never forget, never really stop the hunt though they may appear to. A leopard doesn't change his spots. There is a Watching Brief on him, and those who helped in the first place put in certain, shall we say, safeguards. There is one who was left with his full memory, and the others left with certain alarms in place, alarms that will trigger when the time comes and cause them to seek out the guardian of the memories. So will the Clan be warned, so that the innocents might be protected."

"I foresee the time will come when he will again reach out for those of the Clan, those under our protection, and when that happens, there will be no mercy given. For now, Caeide, return home, love and guard those given to you to love and guard. Protect them, cherish them, and hold fast to your patience and your trust in the Clan. We will not fail you, any more than you will fail them."

And Caeide looked into those old and very wise eyes, and slowly nodded. She had placed her faith, her trust in the Clan all her life; she would continue to do so. And if she felt her patience growing thin, she'd take another ride to that Far Hillside, sit awhile at that graveside she'd reserved, knowing the time would come; if not there, then elsewhere - the time would come.


End file.
